Shards of Glass
by xSmittenKittenx
Summary: When Dean returns from Hell, Sam is struggling to adjust. "Dean had come back, seen what he could do and looked at him with fear in his eyes. Scared he'd have to off his baby brother? Or fear that Sam was turning into a monster?" Oneshot.


**Hey guys~! This is just a short oneshot I found while going through some old documents. It takes place shortly after Dean returns from hell. It might be a little OOC, but if I remember correctly I was in a dark place when I wrote it, so I apologize ouo;;**

**Warning: Suicidal thoughts and self harm**

**Disclaimer: I don't, and never will own Supernatural.**

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Sam clenched his fist, staring into the dingy motel mirror with a curled lip. It was the same face he always saw staring back – the one he saw every day. Long, dusty brown hair. Hazel – green? Brown? Eyes staring back at him. But for how long would they stay that way?

Maybe they'd be black soon.

He hissed, shoving away from the counter and turning around, his hands in his hair. "Fuck." He muttered, closing his eyes and he felt his throat burn. "Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck, _FUCK!_" He yelled with increasing volume until he turned around, punching the mirror, barely noticing the shards of glass puncturing his skin or the blood filling the scummy sink basin. "Fuck." He whispered, hunching over and screwing his eyes shut.

He couldn't do it anymore. Sam let out a shuddering breath, resisting the urge to break down in tears like a girl. He hated it – all of it. Ever since Dean had come back-

Sam felt his chest clench at the thought of his brother. His brother who was scared of him, who thought he was a freak, undoubtedly. All because of the poison that was the fucking demon's blood in his veins.

The tall brunette glanced down at his injured hand, covered in the scarlet liquid. It was tainted – disgusting, he thought with a sneer.

He hated it. The blood, the abilities – he was just trying to do good. Trying to do a good thing. He was trying to help people, without hurting them. Getting rid of the demons. Why did that make him bad? He just wanted to_ help_.

But since it was abilities given to him by the demon, it made it awful. It didn't matter that he didn't want it to happen, that he was stuck with it and that a part of him hated himself for sharing the same blood as the yellowed eyed bastard – all the mattered was that he was doing something unnatural. That's all they cared about.

What did they want him to do? Sam snorted, flexing his fingers and wincing at the sting. Dean was going to be pissed.

Every since his brother had- had shown up again, it had been different between them. Sam, he had after months of torment, nightmares, fantasies of giving it all up and putting a bullet to his chin just to make the guilt go away, found a smidgen of peace. Dean wasn't coming back. Killing himself would have pissed Dean off. It would have been pissing on his brother's sacrifice. So he hunted, he hunted and bled and practiced with Ruby – he tried so hard so make an impact. To do something Dean would've been proud of.

Then Dean came back and the self-loathing returned with a vengeance. Sam would never have told his sibling that he admired him – had since he was five years old and wanted to be just like him. He'd always tried to make him proud – always Dean. Dad, sure, but Dean – Dean had been the one who really cared. He always hated disappointing him, really fighting with him.

Dean had come back, seen what he could do and looked at him with fear in his eyes. _Fear._ Scared he'd have to off his baby brother? Or fear that Sam was turning into a monster?

"I just want to help." He whispered, shoulders shaking as a tear forced it's way down his cheek. What was he supposed to do? Give up using his abilities? But Sam knew – he knew that they were a part of him. If push came to shove, he would use them. And who knew what would happen then – Dean killing him?

Maybe he should just off himself before his brother could have the honor.

"Shut up," He spat at the shattered remains of the mirror as another tear spilled down his face. "Just shut up."

"Sammy?" A voice called and Sam froze, expletives buzzing through his mind as he really looked at the mess he had made for the first time. Shards of glass covered the counter, and several glimmering pieces were sticking out of the bleeding flesh of his hand. He'd probably need stitches and how the hell was he going to explain that?

"Uh- hold on!" He called back, grabbing the towel from beside the sink and mopping up some of the red liquid as he turned on the faucet, washing it out of the basin.

"I brought food!" Dean called through the door. "So hurry your ass up!"

Sam reached up using his left hand – his uninjured one – pinching the bridge of his nose and violently cursing before picking up the trashcan beside the toilet and sweeping as much of the glass into it as he could. The towel, once an off-white, had turned a deep pink. But there was no more visible blood and most of the glass was out of sight, so it would have to do.

Clutching his right hand to his chest, he opened the door and slowly walked into the living room. Dean sat on the patched couch, feet on the coffee table and chowing on a burger as he watched what seemed to be a football game. The door hinges squeaked and he glanced up.

"It's on the- what happened?" He asked around a mouthful, sitting up and bringing his feet down, a look of mild alarm shining through his otherwise calm exterior.

Sam shrugged, not meeting his brother eyes. "I, uh, fell into the mirror. It broke." Dean was already fishing out the first-aid kit when he had finished his explanation, and was shoved into a chair quickly after.

"Dude, how can you fall into a mirror? Seriously, what happened?" Dean questioned as he grabbed Sam's hand, looking at the glass shards with a blank expression. "Damn, gonna have to stitch you up Sammy, some of these are in their deep."

Sam avoided Dean's eyes as he got out the sutures and pliers, looking over at the muted TV screen. "There was water on the floor and I slipped."

"Slipped my ass. You're clumsy, but not that clumsy. So why don't you stop making up bullshit stories and tell me the truth?" Dean intoned conversationally, methodically removing the pieces as Sam winced.

What was he supposed to say? Sorry, threw a bitch-fit and went into a mildly suicidal breakdown after I realized you think I'm going to turn into some evil, run of the mill monster, but it's okay. Just another day in the Winchester household, eh?

Yeah. Right.

"It doesn't matter Dean." He spoke with an over-exaggerated sigh, as though Dean was the one being annoying. Dean's jaw clenched and he saw a look of aggravation cross his face before he was silent.

Moving his gaze back to the TV, he let out a small sigh. Dean could never know. No one could.

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**I hope you enjoyed ouo  
**

**Song of the Oneshot :: Monster - Skillet**


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